Crossers: Legacy of the Grand High Witch
by Tall T
Summary: The first in a series of Harry Potter crossovers stories. This story is a retelling and continuation of Roald Dahl's The Witches for Harry Potter's universe.
1. Remembering Maleficia

**Chapter one: ****Remembering Maleficia**

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat down. It was good to be back in the Auror office.

For two years he had been Britain's Minister of Magic, the most popular one ever to hold the office. He was proud of this, and especially of the fact that he had become Britain's first black Minister of Magic while the United States' magical community had yet to get a black President. Nevertheless, he had said it was only temporary, and he was sticking to it. However, if the pressure continued, he might consider running for office again someday.

But for now, he only wanted to hear about Auror business.

This morning, he was preparing for his first interrogation. This was big, possibly the biggest thing since Voldemort's defeat. A witch named Lucrezia Spear had given herself in, claiming to have first-hand information about the disappearance of Maleficia, the so-called Grand High Witch, and her followers. Maleficia was once considered one of Voldemort's most dangerous collaborators. But after the first, supposed "death" of Voldemort twenty years ago Maleficia became a megalomaniac, setting herself up as the supreme ruler of all witches. Intelligence reports had described her as "terminally insane, yet clever and very powerful". But Maleficia never became the influential leader that Voldemort had been. Her bizarre demands that her followers should shave off their hair, cut off their toes and grow long, crooked fingernails had discouraged anyone but her most devoted followers. Also, her obsession with tormenting muggle children was considered disturbing, even amongst many of Voldemort's followers. The Grand High Witch' great movement of dark art witches never became anything more than a sect.

For a while, Maleficia was being investigated by the Aurors' special agent Alma Dal, an elderly Norwegian squib. Dal was an expert witch-hunter, but she didn't go by the book, to put it mildly. On one occasion, she killed two of Maleficia's followers that she had been ordered to arrest. When questioned about the case, she didn't even try to claim self-defence, but simply said: "The Grand High Witch and her lackeys are vermin. Death is the only justice they deserve!" Dal was considered a loose cannon, and they took her out of Auror service. Then ten years ago she disappeared, at the same time that Maleficia and all her followers also suddenly disappeared. Coincidence? Nobody thought so, but everyone was happy to think this was the end of the Maleficia problem. There were other, even bigger threats ahead at the time. But they were gone now, mostly. Voldemort was dead. Maleficia, as it now turned out, was also dead. She died ten years ago. But her legacy remained.

Shacklebolt opened the door to his office and took a peek outside. He had decided to give the Aurors' newest, and definitely most famous recruit the honour of participating in the interrogation.

"Has Harry Potter arrived yet, Jonesy?" he asked his secretary.

"Not yet, sir. But Miss Spear is ready."

"Then have her sent to my office right away. I will get Mr. Potter a reminder."

---------------

Harry, meanwhile, had decided to take a detour to visit Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley, where his best friend, Ronald Weasley was going through the mail.

"New letter from Hermione?" he asked, looking at the thick parchment Ron was studying. After graduating from Hogwarts, Hermione had begun working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. A month ago, the department sent her on an expedition to the Moomin Valley, a special reservation for magical creatures, some of them very rare, located at a secret place in Finland.

"Yeah, she keeps sending me these long, detailed things. That's Hermione for you. Sometimes I think she gets her private mail mixed up with her official reports to the head of the department."

"Only I don't think she would start her reports by calling the head of the department 'Dear Ronniekins' ", Harry commented with a grin, peeking at the top of the letter.

Ron koffed "If you want to hear what she has to say, I'd rather read it for you, if it's all the same!", he said, slightly embarrased.

"Certainly, go ahead!", Harry replied.

"_Rubeus and I are beginning to run out of time, as the summers are short here in Moomin Valley, and many of the valley's inhabitants are hibernating in the winter" _– Ron began. Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwart's, had been given leave of absence to join Hermione on this expedition. Ron and Harry, meanwhile, still weren't used to the idea of Hermione calling Hagrid by his first name. "Rubeus is one of our closest friends, it doesn't make sense that we should call him by his surname", Hermione argued. All things considered, she probably had a point. It was just that they had always called him Hagrid.

"_It's only the end of august, but already, the days are getting colder. Of course, one advantage to this is that we might get a chance to see the Groke soon. The Groke is a sort of mysterious winter spirit, and finding out more about her is one of the main reasons why the department arranged this expedition. The natives are describing the Groke as an icy cold, horrible-looking giantess that spreads fear wherever she walks. So naturally, Rubeus can't wait to meet her. ____ However, there is one Moomin Valley native who isn't afraid of the Groke: A courageous mymble woman simply known as My. My has agreed to escort us on our evening "Groke-spottings", which__should begin next week, depending on whether the temperatures are low enough._

_Speaking of mymbles, I have begun taking a strong personal interest in these charming, lively beings. If the mymbles' written genealogical sources are to be trusted, these creatures could actually be the ancestors of the "forbidden love refugees" of the late seventeenth century. These refugees were wizards and witches who wanted to marry their house-elves. Such relationships were strictly forbidden at the time, and a lot these people emigrated to the Finnish countryside - with their house-elves - to avoid persecution. In other words, there's a possibility that mymbles are actually crossbred house-elves! The fact that mymbles are shorter than humans, and that most of them have big noses that resemble those of house-elves, would confirm this. And why is this such a sensation? Because unlike house-elves, mymbles are free-spirited beings with a strong sense of independence and individuality. If they do indeed have a close blood relation to house-elves, this could falsify the claims that house-elves are submissive and servile by nature, and confirm _my _theory that house-elves are submissive and servile only because they are culturally instilled to behave that way. This could revolutionize the way we look at house-elves! As you can probably imagine, I'm very excited about this." _

At this point of time, the reading was interrupted by the appearance of a silvery, ethereal semi-transparent light.

"Oh, I know what this is about", Harry muttered.

"Mr. Harry Potter!" the patronus image of Kingsley Shacklebolt declared "I wish to remind you of an important meeting taking place this morning. You are to report for duty within five minutes!"

"You heard the man, I've got to go", Harry said, hurrying towards the door.

"Is this about the Grand High Witch?" Ron asked innocently.

Harry turned around

"Uh, I heard it form George" Ron added hastily "It's just a rumour, and you know how George talks…"

"You know I'm not allowed to discuss Auror matters", Harry replied as politely as he could, and made a mental note to tell Shacklebolt about the importance of preventing leaks.

---------------

The first thing Harry noticed as he walked into the Chief Auror's office, was a figure wearing a pair of thick gloves and a robe with the hood pulled down.

"Mr Potter", Shacklebolt said in his most formal voice, "This is Miss Lucrezia Spear"

For a moment, Harry looked at the figure that made no sign to get up and greet him, or even say anything to him.

"Please be seated, Mr. Potter"

Harry sat down in a chair next to Shacklebolt's desk.

"And Miss Spear? Please remove your hood." He continued.

The figure didn't move.

"Miss Spear" Shacklebolt said in a firmer voice "Do I have to use force?"

The figure slowly moved her hands upwards, and, even slower, removed the hood with a pair of hands that were still tucked in a pair of oversized gloves.

Harry gaped. For all he had been through, there were still sights that could shock and surprise him. The figure under the hood was indeed a woman - a sort of woman, anyway. She did, however, have a thin layer of light brown fur all over her face and, instead of a nose, a large snout with whiskers.

Basically, she looked like a big, human mouse.

"And now your gloves, please" added Shacklebolt, who didn't look the least bit surprised.

The mouse-woman did as she was told, a little less hesitant this time. Taking off her gloves, she revealed a pair of claw-like, furry hands with opposable thumbs.

"Okay, there must be an interesting story behind this", Harry said flatly.

Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned back in his chair. "That's what we're about to find out", he said.

_Continued_

* * *

At last, here it is: The first chapter in what might turn out to be an over-ambitious fanfic. 

The project's working title is The Crosser Project, and the idea is to incorporate several characters from my favourite childhood books into Harry Potter's universe. Harry Potter himself won't play a large part, except in this particular story. Later stories will focus on Ron and Hermione along with characters created by Roald Dahl, Michael Ende, Tove Jansson and Angela Sommer-Bodenburg, to mention a few. In other words, it's a multi-crossover.

Chapter two should be up very soon; it's pretty much finished. In the meantime, please read and review. And bear in mind that English is not my native language, so don't be afraid to tell me if I'm not expressing myself correctly.

This chapter was inspired by the following books:

The Harry Potter books in general, all of whom are written by J. K. Rowling

The Moomin books in general, all of whom are written by Tove Jansson.

_The Witches_, a book written by Roald Dahl.

All the characters used or mentioned in this story are created by these three writers, except for Lucrezia Spear, who was invented by me (although technically, she appears in Roald Dahl's book; if only as a nameless face in the crowd). I also made up the names for the Grand High Witch and the grandmother from _The Witches_. In the book, they have no names.


	2. Where did all the witches go?

**Chapter 2: Where did all the witches go? **

The mouse-woman straightened herself up.

"First of all, I just want to say that for what it's worth, I deeply regret ever joining Maleficia's horde. I want to make amends, Mr. Shacklebolt. Send me to Azkaban if you must, but please let me tell my story."

That's why we had brought you here today, Miss Spear. We want to hear the whole story. Now, am I right in thinking that Maleficia is to blame for your current condition?"

"She…and that accursed Alma Dal! But first things first…It started ten year ago at Maleficia's annual convention. We were staying at a hotel in Bournemouth, pretending to be a _Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children_ convention - Maleficia liked ironic statements like that."

Harry had been reading up on the Grand High Witch, and it made for a frightening read. From what he could understand, her ultimate goal had been the extinction of the entire muggle race. Not even Voldemort used to have such insane ambitions. According to her own twisted logic, the way to do this was to kill all muggle children so that would be no one left to carry on the "muggle gene". There were, however, some Auror researchers who believed that Maleficia wasn't really that calculating, and that she killed muggle children simply out of irrational, psychotic hatred

"Anyway, Maleficia started by telling us how much she hated children, and how angry she was at our failure to destroy all of the children in England. Then she killed one of us, on the spot, for pointing out that total extinction of all the children in England would be impossible. It was the usual. Or so we thought. As it soon turned out, Maleficia had a plan this time; a highly ambitious plan. First, we were all going to purchase one sweet shop each…"

"Where would you get all the money from?" Harry interrupted.

"Maleficia was an expert at counterfeits", Kingsley Shacklebolt explained. "Even goblins had difficulty telling them apart from real money."

"Precisely" Spear added "Anyway, on opening day, we were to give away give away sweets that would be laced with a magic potion. Naturally, no children would say no to free sweets, and so they would all swallow the potion"

"This magic potion had an unpleasant effect, I gather?" Shacklebolt asked.

Lucrezia nodded. "Correct. It would turn anyone who swallowed it into a mouse."

"Ah, I think perhaps I can guess where this is going. But anyway, I assume that this potion wasn't supposed to go into effect immediately…as that would seem very suspicious."

Lucrezia nodded again. "We were instructed by the Grand High Witch that the potion would activate at 9 a.m., the day after the children had eaten the chocolate, when they were at school."

Then came an awkward pause, as if everyone in the room were now expecting someone else to add a comment. Eventually, Harry decided that he would do it.

"Well, that would be very…evil, no doubt about it. But…exactly how would that lead to the extinction of all muggle children in England?"

"…"

Lucrezia hesitated for a moment. Then she said slowly:

"Maleficia believed…that the teachers would panic when the classrooms were suddenly filled with mice…and…that they would have the mice exterminated…"

For about thirty seconds, Harry just stared at the mouse-witch.

"Let me get this straight" he finally said. "These children were supposed to turn into mice _right before the eyes _of their teachers…and yet Maleficia expected the teachers to react by just killing them all…killing all the children that they had just _seen_turn into mice. She expected every elementary school teacher in England to ignore the fact that these mice were obviously their own pupils…and just exterminate them?"

Spear nodded.

"And she thought that just because the transfigurations took place on the day after all the children had been offered free sweets - _all over the country _- the authorities would not be able to see a pattern? That they would not suspect the sweet-shop ladies of having something to do with all these bizarre transfigurations?"

"I guess so", Spear replied, and nodded again.

Harry looked at Shacklebolt. Then at Lucrezia Spear. Then at Shacklebolt again. Finally he said to the Chief Auror:

"This is a joke right? No offence, sir, but tell me honestly: did you set me up? Let's make fun of the new guy and all that?"

"Common sense was never Maleficia's strongest suit, Mr. Potter. If Miss Spear tells me that this was Maleficia's plan, I believe her. But the plan backfired, didn't it, Miss Spear…?"

"Does it show?" Spear replied dryly. "Oh yes, it backfired. And how it backfired! You see, Maleficia wanted to demonstrate the effect of the potion, so she gave a chocolate bar to some fat, snotty little boy - As I recall, his name was Bruno Jenkins. The day before, Maleficia gave him a chocolate bar with the potion, which had been so timed that he would turn into a mouse after just a few seconds in the room.

"A mouse like you?"

"No, an actual mouse. Well, technically not. He could still talk and…ah, but I'm getting ahead of myself again. Anyway, Jenkins is not important. What is important, is another little boy who was present in the room at the time. He had been hiding from us, and now he knew all about our plan. He tried to escape, but we caught him, and naturally we had to silence him somehow. You can probably guess how we did that."

"You force-fed him the potion?"

"Precisely. We gave him an extra large dose so that the transfiguration would take place immediately. And it did. Unfortunately, he managed to get away, but we didn't worry too much about that then. After all, he was just a mouse. What could he do?"

"What indeed…" Shacklebolt muttered.

"I said we silenced him, and that's a laugh", Spear continued bitterly. "The only thing we didn't do was silencing him. You see, even though he was a mouse, the boy could still talk and think."

"Very interesting. Was that part of the plan, you think?"

"I doubt it. To this day, I can't believe that Maleficia made such a powerful potion, and yet at the same time did such a stupid mistake. And to make matters worse, the boy later turned out to be Michael Dahl, the grandson of none other that Alma Dal."

"Again, very interesting."

"I consider it destiny. It is too much of a coincidence that the one child who learned of our plan should turn out to be the witch-killer's grandson. I believe this means that the plan was destined to fail. Somehow, young Michael managed to get back to his room – he and Mrs. Dal were staying at the same hotel – and tell Mrs. Dal everything. She, of course, knew what to do. Somehow, she managed to steal a small bottle the potion from Maleficia's hotel room, and then pour the entire bottle into a saucepan full of soup at the hotel's kitchen. That was the soup we were having for starters that evening." She sighed. "You can probably guess the rest. The doses were so large that we were all transformed into mice almost instantly. Unfortunately, none of the waiters were looking our way at that moment, so they didn't know what had happened." She sighed again "When the staff noticed us, the transfigurations were complete, and all they knew was that there were suddenly a lot of mice in the restaurant. They killed quite a lot of us that evening, including the Grand High Witch herself. But some of us escaped. The moment our transfigurations were complete, we all realised that we could still think. We knew what had just happened, and how the hotel staff was going to react when they discovered us. So naturally we all tried to escape from the restaurant. One of the chefs caught me, and he probably would have chopped me to bits, had it not occurred to me that if I could still think, then maybe I could still talk. So I cried: _Don't kill me, I'm not a real mouse, I'm human! _My voice was very…well, squeaky, of course, but I think he understood. At least the surprise of being talked to by a mouse caused him to back away of me, and I was able to escape."

Spear cleared her throat. "Before I go on…you promised me I could have a sherry."

Shacklebolt had a glass and a bottle sent to his office, and Spear took a good sip before she continued.

"Where was I? Somehow, the survivors, most of us anyway, managed to gather outside the hotel. Things didn't look too good, to put it mildly. Two witches who were sitting next to Maleficia at the dinner table confirmed that the Grand High Witch had been cut up by a waiter on the way out, so we didn't don't where we could find an antidote, or if Maleficia had even bothered to make one. Eventually, we decided to take shelter in the house of Griselda Baiter, who lived nearby the hotel. It took all night to get there, and on the way, two of us were eaten by an owl, and another three were taken by a badger. Once we were there, we spent the next few days trying to make an antidote. It was hopeless. Even if we somehow could manage to lift bottles and casseroles and such, we didn't know where to begin. Eventually, we made what seemed to be the logical decision: We decided to search the Grand High Witch' castle in Norway for clues, or possibly even an antidote. Griselda had some floo powder, so we could get there easily."

Spear took another sip.

"Well, guess who was waiting for us when we arrived…?"

"Mrs Dal?"

Spear nodded. "Alma Dal and an army of…bloody…huge…cats! There were one hundred and eight of us when we arrived. Before we managed to escape, the cats had taken fifty-one of us. While the cats feasted, Alma Dal helpfully explained to those of us who weren't already eaten, that she was the one who poisoned our soup, along with her grandson. Then she proudly displayed a mouse she was holding in her right hand. This, of course, was her grandson. And how he laughed! The next few years were miserable. Wherever we went, Mrs. Dal managed to track us down somehow. Three years later, there were only twelve of us who had yet to become cat-food."

Spear emptied the glass. "Another one, please?"

Looking at the bottle, Shacklebolt hesitated.

"Look, I don't expect you to feel sorry for me, far from it, but you have to understand how hard this is for me."

Shacklebolt reluctantly poured her another glass of sherry. "Thank you…now, three years ago, something started happening to us survivors. Our bodies began to grow…started taking more human forms. And in the end, well…" - Spear waved her arms - "I looked like this". Now to begin with, we considered ourselves lucky. Alma Dal's cats would no longer be a threat, we could defend ourselves, and we could make potions. Of course, one problem was that we could no longer go around unnoticed. Fortunately one of us survivors, Marcia Greywill, was a childhood friend of Narcissa Malfoy. Mrs. Malfoy kindly allowed us to take shelter in a remote, overgrown mansion, and provided us, not only with food, but also with ingredients to make potions. Unfortunately, we were no closer to finding an antidote. Maleficia was dead, and her notes were no doubt in Alma Dal's possession.

Then we heard news from the outside world. We learned that the Dark Lord had seized control of the British ministry of magic, and Mrs Malfoy told us that he would consider pardoning the remaining members of Maleficia's inner circle. He never got that far, however, before he died…"

"I know", said Harry darkly "I was there."

"Don't get me wrong, Mr. Potter; at that that time there was no love lost between us and the Dark Lord. As for Maleficia, I was beginning to hate her more than I hated Alma Dal. Often would I wish that she had survived that fateful night at the hotel, only so that I could kill her myself. But the Dark Lord's regime seemed like our last chance. And for many of us, that's exactly what it was."

"What do you mean?"

"She found us at last. About two years ago, Hecate Grinder just suddenly disappeared one day. Then the same thing happened to Tilla Fowles. Then we began to run out of food because Narcissa Malfoy's servants had stopped visiting us. From this, we drew the following conclusions. One, the Malfoys were probably captured, possibly killed. Two, the Dals had found us, and now they were trying to take us down one by one. On the same evening that Marcia disappeared, and there were only nine witches left, we had an emergency council. We decided that one of us would have to get back to civilisation to find out what had happened. If necessary, if all of our former allies were dead or powerless, we would give ourselves up. Then we drew straws and I lost…or won, depending on your point of view. Anyway, here I am. But on my way, I was nearly killed, too. Walking through the forest the very same night, I was assaulted by a young man. He was quick and strong, and before I knew it, he had forced me down on the ground and pressed a knife against my throat. In the dim moonlight, I could see that he was a mouse-hybrid, like me, and it occurred to me that he had to be Dal's grandson, Michael. Obviously, he too had evolved from a mouse into a mouse-human. I tried to break free, but it was no use. I was sleepy and weak from food deprivation, and young Dal's grip was iron-tight.

With nothing left to lose, I did something that saved my life. I tried to reason with him:

"Why do you and your grandmother keep hunting us? You killed nearly two hundred of us. Haven't you gotten enough revenge?"

"My grandmother and I won't stop until all witches are dead!" he yelled, but there was uncertainty in his voice.

"Are you going to kill all the witches in the world? You've got your work cut out for you, then. There are hundreds of thousands of us all over the world. And what about the wizards? Are you going to kill all of them as well?"

Mentioning wizards seemed to confuse him.

"There's…there's no such thing as wizards."

Now it was my turn to act confused.

"I know we're enemies, Dal, but please tell me one thing. What exactly has your grandmother told you about witches?"

For a moment, young Dahl looked like he was going to tell me to drop dead, or more likely, make sure I did just that. But then he decided to answer my question. I think perhaps his instinct told him he ought to. What he told nearly made me break down laughing. His grandmother had brainwashed him, there was no better word for it. She had told him that _all _witches were like Maleficia's followers - deranged child-killers with bald heads, long crooked fingers and no toes. So naturally, I told him the truth: That witches were part of a huge and complex magical society. That the only witches who fitted his grandmother's description, were in a small sect whose members were mostly dead now, thanks to his and Alma Dal's efforts. That the magical society, including the other witches, regarded us as criminals and terrorists - with good reason."

"And how did he react?"

"He called me a liar, of course, and then he told me that his grandmother had warned him of the lies that witches might try and tell him. But again, there was uncertainty in his voice. You see, the one advantage to being a mouse-hybrid is that our senses are heightened. Somehow, Michael Dal could tell that I wasn't lying. Maybe he saw it in my eyes, maybe he could tell from my tone of voice, maybe he even heard my heartbeat. I don't know about him, but my hearing is so strong that I can tell what kind of mood people are in by listening to their heartbeat. In any case, I was being completely honest with him, and I think he could tell. Young Dal looked at me for what felt like a very long time. Then he retracted his knife, let go of me and walked away."

Lucrezia emptied her second glass of sherry.

"And that's all I know about the Dals. Wherever Michael Dal is right now, I hope he's having a heart-to-heart conversation with his grandmother. Because that conversation is long overdue."

Continued

* * *

This chapter was inspired by the Harry Potter books in general - all of whom are written by J. K. Rowling - and _The Witches_, a book written by Roald Dahl. 

All the characters used or mentioned in this story are created by these two writers, except for Lucrezia Spear, who was invented by me (although technically, she appears in Roald Dahl's book; if only as a nameless face in the crowd). I also made up the names for the Grand High Witch, a random selection of her followers, and the grandmother from _The Witches_. In the book, they have no names.


	3. Dead end

I know it's been an awful long time since I updated this story. But I've decided to give it another try, at least long enough to finish my _Roald Dahl's Witches_-related plotline. I originally put it on hiatus because of lack of reviews, so if you have an interest in this story at all, please do not hesitate to review.

* * *

The first day, Alma Dal said it with curiosity:

"Michael, talk to me."

On the second day, she said it with mild annoyance:

"Michael, talk to me!"

On the third day, she said it pleadingly:

"Michael, my boy,** please **talk to me!"

Without turning to face her, he said:

"I will talk to you on one condition" he said darkly. "Admit that you've been lying to me. Admit it right now!"

"Lying about what?"

No response.

"All right, I admit it. I've been lying to you! Now will you please tell me what I've been lying to you about?"

"You know that very well, grandmamma! I spoke to Lucrezia Spear…"

"Who"

"To one of the surviving witches you told me to kill. You've spent a lifetime hunting down those witches, and you haven't bothered remembering any of their names? I bet you don't even know the name of the Grand High Witch!"

"Maleficia. It was Maleficia."

"And why did you never even bother to tell me that?"

"You didn't need to know."

"I guess there were a lot of things I didn't need to know."

Alma didn't respond immediately. Michael got up form his chair and walked towards her.

"But Lucrezia told me a lot of things…"

"Michael, don't tell me that you are going to trust a witch! She would have told you anything at the time, just to try and talk you out of killing her…"

"I could hear her heartbeat. It was calm and steady, and she was looking right at me. That's not how a liar behaves. _You_, on the other hand…" Michael walked in circles around her. "Your hearting is beating faster by the minute, you're looking away, and you're _sweating_!"

Alma Dal grabbed a cigar and fumbled with the lighter.

"**No cigars!**" he snapped as he yanked it out of his shocked grandmother's hand. Michael otherwise never even commented on her smoking, let alone tried to stop it. "They are clogging my senses"

He didn't add: _And that's what you're trying to do isn't it?,_ but Alma could tell from the look in his eyes that that's probably what he was thinking.

"Grandmamma…." He began, looking her straight into the eyes, "Have you told me the whole truth?"

For a minute, none of the two figures said anything at all. Then Alma looked down, and slowly, as slowly as you could possibly say a two-letter word, she replied:

"_No…_"

Michael sighed. "Grandmamma, what are you really?"

"If you _must_ know, I'm a Squib."

"A what?"

"A witch without powers. Some people are born as witches without the ability to do magic. I was born into a family where everyone but I could do magic. Now imagine how that –"

"You were born into a family of witches?"

Alma Dal looked down.

"Yes. Ironic, isn't it?"

"That doesn't even begin to describe it. Lucrezia told me that witches and wizards live in their own communities, not so different from that of normal people."

"She did, did she…" Alma said in a non-committal voice.

"Did you grow up in a community like that?"

"Yes", she admitted. "But my father was a muggle…"

"A what?"

"Sorry, I forgot to tell you. That's the wizard term for normal, non-magical people. But we lived in a dark age. The Grand High Witch and her followers allied themselves with Lord Voldemort, the only sorcerer who might possibly have been even more dangerous than the Grand High Witch herself. Together, they hunted down families who were not pureblooded. Because of my father's background, we became a target. The Grand High Witch' followers killed my family, Michael."

"And that's why you dedicated your life to hunting down witches."

"Well, only the witches who were part of the pureblood movement."

"Why didn't you tell me that part before?"

"I didn't want to complicate matters too much, I just wanted you to have a normal life. For a while, I was hoping I would never even have to tell you about witches at all. I wanted to protect you. Because I was born as a Squib, I was treated as a freak. I didn't want the same thing to happen to you…"

"A freak?" The human mouse-hybrid got up. Michael had grown rapidly over the last few years, and he now had the same height and build as a normal human being of his age. But it didn't matter. He would still stand out from a mile.

"Look at me, Grandmamma! Look at me! _I_ have no choice _but_ to be treated like a freak! I can't even live like a mouse any more, I don't fit in anywhere!" he suppressed a sob. "You told me that as a mouse-being I could only hope to live for another ten years", he muttered. "For about as long as you."

"I know, dear. I know I said that. And now it's been ten years, and…well, it looks like I might be wrong, doesn't it?"

"It doesn't feel like I'm dying of old age, if that's what you mean." Michael said sardonically. "Why didn't you tell me what would _really _happen to me?"

"Because I didn't know that this would happen to you Michael, I really didn't think the potion would work that way! That part wasn't a lie!!"

"Ah, so the rest _was_?"

"Don't twist my words!"

"Why, because you've already twisted them enough? We've been living on a lie, Grandmamma!"

Alma gritted her teeth. "We've done important things, good things, even if they were…_partly _based on lies. Can I please light a cigar now? I really need it to calm my nerves."

Michael hesitated, but eventually nodded.

"Anyway", she continued while she lit a cigar. "The Wizarding authorities have been after me for years. I'm wanted for taking the law into my own hands. _We'_re wanted actually. They probably know about you too, by now."

"Then let's report ourselves to them. You're too old and sick to manage on your own, and I don't want to live like this anymore."

Alma hung her head.

"I can't let you do that, Michael."

"Why not?"

"Because I already reported myself to the Wizarding authorities, two hours ago."

The door bell rang. Michael, who didn't even know that they had a door bell, jumped. It wasn't like anyone ever came to visit them.

"That would be them now. I knew it would take them some time to find this place. After all, I had it floo powder-proofed ages ago."

She got up, and her grandson followed right behind.

Standing in the doorway was a fairly young Auror cadet with black, rugged hair, glasses and a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. He would have been instantly recognizable by almost anyone in the magical community. Even Alma, after all her years in isolation, had a faint suspicion of who it was.

"Alma Dal?", he asked.

"That is me."

The Auror held up a badge. "Harry Potter, National Auror Corps. You are under arrest, suspected of vigilante activities involving mass murder of criminal witches."

The old woman raised her hands in the air.

"I know, young sir, and I won't make any trouble. But please allow my grandson to come with us."

Michael looked at the man who, for some reason, didn't seem very surprised at the sight of a human mouse-hybrid.

"Of course he will come with us, ma'am." The young man replied. "_He _is under arrest also."

Alma gasped. "But sir, I told the Auror captain on the phone that I have been working alone…"

"I know, ma'am. But we have reason to suspect otherwise."

* * *

**To be continued.**


End file.
